We versify for nickels; We sing & dance for dimes.
We are Blood of the Gypsey Jingle.
We Make Rhymes.

For the love of love and laughter,
for those shagging in the rafters.
For the want of something young,
or mere amusement of the tongue.

For the love of god who made love,
& the love of those close by.
We make rhymes compulsively;
nobody knows just why.

Is it something in the g-nome?
Can we trust the H2O?
The rhymer's days seem numbered,
since Edgar Alan Poe.

Longfellow's long-lost fan clubs
have nowhere else to go.
Come Sing & Hum & Beat the Drum
with Beelzebub's Banjo!